Bitter Beginnings
by Mikkal
Summary: When a recon mission goes horribly wrong there's a domino effect that leaves Steve cracked and almost broken. Luckily, there's a man made of iron who might just be the one to help. Pre-slash/Slash
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or anything directly affiliated to them.

Title, for once, not made by me. That goes to Fallfromreality. Who, through text, also gave me a few more titles. One includes Stark Naked Redemption, because she just couldn't resist. God, she's the greatest. She is also my awesome beta reader, also the first time I've had a beta reader.

* * *

Bitter Beginnings

Mikkal

Chapter 1

* * *

Summary: When a recon mission goes horribly wrong there's a domino effect that leaves Steve cracked and almost broken. Luckily, there's a man made of iron who might just be the one to help. Pre-slash/Slash

* * *

Tony woke up stripped of everything but his pants and dress shirt. Even his belt and shoes were gone (and his favorite tie!) and his pockets were emptied. He groaned and sat up slowly, reaching to touch the back of his head where the pain was radiating from. This was worse than any hangover. Luckily, there was only a large bump and no blood.

He bemoaned the also loss of his shoes (they were _expensive!)_ before it occurred to him that he was almost brained for a reason and, wait, where was Rogers? Tony was pretty sure Rogers was standing next to him when everything when dark.

Twisting around was a bad idea for two reasons: One, the whole (bare and chilly and very, _very_ locked) room swirled in a nauseating circle and two, the sight of the living legend Captain America chained up with blood running down the side of his face made him go cold.

Tony didn't bother struggling to his feet, instead he crawled over to the man who kind of almost could be considered an acquaintance as a result of about three hardcore missions, and sat back on his knees. He inspected the chains pulling Rogers' arms high above his head, the strain obvious in his shoulders. Even now, when the man was unconscious, his shoulders shook as they supported the dead (no, not dead. _Never_ dead) weight of his slumped body.

The chains had no seam and were connect to the stone ceiling by some mechanical device he so did not have the time nor the height to inspect thoroughly, they were three times as thick as normal and something told Tony that whoever captured them knew exactly who they were dealing with. This wasn't a Tony Stark and body guard kidnapping for ransom, this was an Iron Man and Captain America capture and (not good) possibly torture.

He used his sleeve to wipe the blood off Rogers' cheek and from under his ear (the absolute red of it was bothering him quite a bit) before attempting to wake up the soldier.

"Rogers." Tony tapped the not-blood-covered cheekbone, probably a lot harder than he should. "Hey, Spangles, no sleeping on the job. I thought you were suppose to be my body guard? You suck at this job." Rogers' face twitched away from his finger, prompting him to keep talking (because, no, he was _not _babbling). "Next time, because there's gonna be a next time knowing Fury, I'm _so _snatching up Natasha…or maybe Barton. I know _they_ wouldn't be sleeping on the job."

Rogers groaned. "Shut up, Stark," he mumbled. He squeezed his eyes together tightly before they fluttered open, his pupils not dilating properly and there was a haze over them that wouldn't clear up, making his eyes grey instead of that annoying blue Pepper liked to fangirl over.

Yeah, _not _good. Especially when he groaned again and his eyes slid close.

"Hey. Hey!" Tony all but yelled, making his own head ache a little worse. This want' exactly on his agenda for 'things to do while dealing with a concussion.' "No more sleepy. Nap later. Got it?"

He received a glare for that, but Rogers' face unmistakably said _Got it_. Which was good, because Tony was not the greatest at medical things. What he wouldn't give for Bruce right now. Hell, what he wouldn't give to _not_ be in this situation right now.

"What do you remember?" He asked. Just to keep him talking (Tony totally knows what's going on and doesn't need a second opinion. He's Tony Stark for God's Sake, when does he ever need a second opinion? And, no, asking Bruce about something doesn't count.) The good ol' Cap may be great at following orders in normal scenarios, but this wasn't very normal. Normally bad guys don't manage to get the drop on their civilian personas and normally bad guys didn't have foresight to lock Mr. Stars'n'Stripes up in seamless metal. So, yeah, the order of not taking a Cap Nap was going to be very hard to follow. "Open your eyes, Captain," Tony said hardly a second later.

Case in point.

"You were being annoying," the Captain muttered, opening his eyes as per ordered. "As usual."

Tony rolled his eyes at that, even though it was true.

"Then darkness."

Wow, that was helpful. That's as much as Tony remembered (though, Rogers was being stuffy instead of Stark-level annoying. It was an art form, really).

"What about you?" Rogers asked him. His muscles bunched as he clenched his hands into fists and lifted his sagging body up via his wrists. It was obviously bad for aforementioned wrists, but it relieved some of the strain of his shoulders, if only for a second.

But Tony didn't like the way he winced when he finally relaxed (not the best term, but he was a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist not an English professor). The moment of relief was short lived and probably made the pain worse now.

"You probably shouldn't do that," Tony offered.

Rogers gave him a dirty look that meant _Ya think_ and, really, it was pretty amazing how much snark the Captain could get into one look. Tony relied on words and blank stares. Rogers could make a whole unit back with just his deadpan look. Trust him, he'd seen it first-hand.

"What do you think they want with us?" Rogers asked, panting a little.

Tony tried to keep his worry internal and leaned against the wall next to him. "I don't know… And, you know what? The waiting's getting annoying." He got to his feet, struggling only slightly, and headed to the featureless door standing right in front of him. He pounded on it (hammering his head inadvertently) and shouted, "Can we get some room service in here? Little wrapped up chocolates?"

"Stark…"

"Maybe some blankets?" He continued, on a roll and the whole damn loaf "Fluffed pillows? Lobster?...Are we even in a lobster country?"

"T-_Tony_!"

The combination of his first name, panic, and pain made Tony turn around. Only to find the chain somehow becoming shorter and slowly lifting the Captain from the ground.

"Hey!" He shouted, raising his hands in a pathetic attempt to stop the man from rising. "I was kidding! I'll shut up. Stop!"

And the chains did stop right where they were, Rogers' toes tapping around in panic because they could _just_ touch the floor. The look on Rogers' face made Tony go white, he'd never seen that look before and now he knew that he never wanted to see it again.

"I'll keep my mouth shut," he assured to open air.

That air apparently was listening because the chains got a little longer so now Rogers' knees were back to barely brushing the ground and his face was twisted in pain. His eyes were a little clearer, but was probably due to adrenaline so that didn't make Tony feel any better.

"You okay?" Tony asked. Stupid question, whatever.

Rogers gave a jerking nod, chest moving rapidly as he breathed harshly through his nose. "Y-Yeah." He swallowed thickly. "Just do me a f-favor? Don't a-antagonize them again…please."

It was the please that caught his attention and made him nod. He wasn't going to say sorry, even though he kind of was, because he wasn't the sorry kind of man (saying like he meant it, at least. Sarcastically was perfectly acceptable).

Tony sat down again, this time right next to the door so he could jump anyone who came in and with his legs drawn in so he could hug them comfortingly (he would say later he was just cold…was it getting colder?). He made sure to keep the Cap in his line of sight; he didn't want any more surprises injuring his teammate/acquaintance (—/friend. He'd try and deny that, but it was getting harder).

What a way for a so-called recon mission to go horribly wrong, right?

They were both silent for a moment, the only sound was Rogers' harsh breathing, until the injured man rasped out, "How long have we b-been here?"

He checked his watch. (and of course they would leave his watch and no his favorite tie or designer shoes. Come on! Who was running this freak show?) "Seventeen hours."

"_A-Awesome_."

Tony smirked at the sarcasm, but then he blinked when something occurred to him: his watch.

_He still had his watch_.

Okay, run down.

The walls were thick, obviously, but not thick enough or protected to keep cell phones from working or else they wouldn't bother with taking his (or Rogers). That must mean some or most radio signal could still pass through. Which meant the super-special (superly-special-awesome) Avengers red alert signal built into his watch could still get a hold of the standby team.

And that's what he did. It would take about half an hour for the signal to reach them, no matter where they are. So they just had to last that long, plus another hour for them to get here (considering Clint's driving and the fact they would most likely split up when they got here to send a skillfully sneaky assassin around to get them instead of fight mooks). Considering they'd already been there for seventeen hours and the only bad thing was the shortening of chains Tony believed they could really last that long.

…and, of course (as usual), he was wrong.

"_Mr. Stark. I believe you have something I want._"

Tony rolled his eyes, glaring at the ceiling where the crackly voice was coming from. "A lot of people want a lot of things I have, doesn't mean they get it."

"_So I've heard, but you're still going to give it to me."_

That made him chuckle, if not a little bitterly.

"That's a quick assumption. What does the high and mighty voice want so much that they kidnap me and my guard?" He was still on just a simple recon mission, right? So yeah, he was still sticking to the whole 'Steve Rogers: Body Guard Extraordinaire' thing.

"_Your Iron Man suit."_

"You and everyone else in the world. Get in line, buddy."

There was an odd humming noise that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and the air tasted like the tip of a battery (don't ask). Before he could make the inevitable connection, Steve was screaming, shrill and long, his back arching and his body twitching sporadically as electrical currents scorched through his nerves.

"Stop it!"

Nothing changed.

"I said stop!" Tony shouted. "Stop it! You can have the damn thing!"

Steve's last scream was choked. The hum turned off and the air wasn't charged anymore. His body fell limply in his chains, a sickening pop sounding from one of his shoulders as most of his weight dragged it down and forced it out of its socket.

"Steve?" Tony said quietly. He shuffled over, hand hovering over him hesitantly. "Steve, you there?" It wasn't like he could ask him if he was okay, he wasn't okay. And asking him if he was awake seemed a little stupid.

He received no answer. So maybe it would've been better to ask him if he was awake.

"Damnit."

"_Your suit, Mr. Stark._"

"I heard you the first time," Tony snapped, placing his fingers on Steve's neck (wait, when did it change from Rogers to Steve?). More out of reassurance than practicality. He could see a few veins throbbing in his strained shoulders so the manual pulse check was unneeded. He just wanted to make sure. "But I don't _have _my suit, do I? You bastard, this was a recon not a fucking attack. I didn't _need_ it."

"_Your mistake will be sorely paid for."_

The room was plunged into almost true darkness and it suddenly got about 40 degrees colder, literally making Tony's teeth chatter. Panic clawed up his throat, making it hard to breathe. _He _didn't fear the dark or the cold. There was only one out of all six of them who did.

He wasn't the one paying for his own mistake.

Steve's breathing quickened as he woke up. "T-Tony?"

Tony came to the sickening realization that maybe this whole capture thing was _not _about him (but why would they want Steve then ask for his Iron Man suit?). So far, his only torture was being forced to watch his friend be subjected to different horrors. But it was _Steve_ who hated being restrained and who was now chained up. It was _Steve_ who hated not having control and suddenly found himself being hoisted up.

The electricity was probably just for sick pleasure, but the dark and cold?

There were times when the Avengers completely crashed during their designated "down time" and Steve, more often than not, managed to wake them all up with his whimpering and shivering despite practically commandeering the thickest blanket.

Besides the deaths of family and friends there was nothing Steve Rogers feared most.

"T-Tony?" Steve said again, teeth chattering as well.

"I'm right here, Spangles," he assured, keeping his almost overwhelming fear and worry out of his voice.

"C-Cold," he stuttered.

Tony grimaced. "I know. Just hang in there, okay?" _Come on, Team._

"W-Why is it c-cold?" There was pure panic in his voice now. "And d-dark? T-Tony!"

"Hey," he said softly. He took a guess and cupped the other man's face, wincing at the blood he felt. The head wound was bleeding again. "Hang in there, Steve," he ordered sternly. "You're not alone. I am _right _here."

"I c-can't see y-you," Steve all but whimpered.

Tony didn't know what to do. He hadn't felt this helpless in a long, long time. He didn't _do _helpless. He didn't know how to calm Steve down as he steadily worked his way to a full-on panic attack. Tony wasn't even sure the Cap was in the room with him anymore. For all he knew, he was down back in the ice with a broken Hydra ship.

"Tony! Steve!"

Tony blinked. "Clint?" The walls were _that_ thin?

"Stand back. I'm using an EMP."

He sighed in relief, but—wait. "No, wait! Don't!"

It was too late. There was a tang of something attaching to metal and the fizz of the EMP. The door sparked and slid open at the same time the device keeping the Cap's chains attached to the ceiling shorted out and dropped him to the floor.

Steve cried out as his muscles locked painfully and spasmed from being in the same uncomfortable position for eighteen-ish hours then were suddenly freed. The electricity didn't help.

"Shit," Clint muttered, rushing in.

The two of them helped Steve sit up carefully. He leaned against Tony heavily, panting and twitching. He moaned in pain when Clint accidently jostled his arms while he took a laser through the metal.

"Sorry."

"'S o-okay," he mumbled.

Tony shifted as Steve pressed his face into the billionaire's shoulder. "Where are the others?"

"Bruce is back at base," Clint said, brows furrowing together. The metal was really thick. "He figured that since you both were missing, but only your signal came through, Steve was injured. He's setting everything up."

"And he didn't want to Hulk out by accident," Tony deduced, "when he saw the Cap."

Clint nodded. "Natasha is stealing the information we need. And Thor is currently beating the crap out of every mook up there."

"And the main guy?"

The archer scowled. "Gone."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers.

I _hate_ writing Thor's dialogue. Why must he be so difficult?

* * *

Bitter Beginnings

Mikkal

Chapter 2

* * *

Summary: When a recon mission goes horribly wrong there's a domino effect that leaves Steve cracked and almost broken. Luckily, there's a man made of iron who might just be the one to help. Pre-slash/Slash

* * *

Their way back to the temporary base was met with no problems. Clint and Natasha forced Tony to sit in the back with Steve in order to keep the injured man from falling off the seat he was laying on. (Thor took the back-back, where there were no seats so he was forced to cling to a headrest because Clint's driving made even the toughest god nervous.)

He tried his best to ignore the shivers racking the Cap's body—even though he was all warmed up now—and the fact that he was using his lap as a pillow. Instead, he kept one hand on Steve's shoulder to steady him (mindful of the dislocation) and used the other to prop his own head up, leaning his forehead against the surprisingly cool glass.

"What happened?" Natasha asked quietly, tone softer than usual, mindful of Steve's current condition. He wasn't allowed to sleep, but he was dazed enough that they all felt they should be quiet.

Tony recounted everything, while Thor sent what he said through the comm-unit to Bruce so he knew exactly what to be ready for. Clint's knuckles got whiter and whiter though the story as he clutched the steering wheel with all of his strength.

"Why would they want your suit," Thor said slowly, trying to understand. "But then do this to Steve?"

Steve tangled his fingers in Tony's pant leg, sighing. "M-Misdirection," he mumbled.

"What?" Clint asked.

Tony smiled. "Misdirection?"

Steve gave a tiny nod. "Y-yeah." He blinked slowly. "D-Don't know w-why."

"He is still stuttering," Thor noted, lacking a bit of tact. "Why?"

None of them had an answer if the silence meant anything. Tony had an idea, but didn't really want to flesh it out. All he really wanted to do was get Steve—Rogers—to base, under Bruce's care, then find the bastards that cut his stay at a five-star hotel short and make him pay.

That was _absolutely_ all he wanted to do.

But when they pulled up, Steve, for some reason, refused to let go of him. He sighed. "Steve."

The Cap shook his head before hesitating then letting go with a look of embarrassment and shame. He allowed Thor to help him to where Bruce was flitting around like a worried hummingbird. Tony did his best to rationalize why he felt a little bit colder now that he wasn't being held onto. (Held onto in general or held onto by Steve?)

Tony headed to the makeshift lab where Natasha was downloading the files she stole and hacking into them. Thor was in the corner, scrubbing his hands of accidental blood (he didn't mean to break that one man's arm in such a way the bone broke through!). It was a lot tougher than it seem, for some reason.

"Here." Clint shoved his shoes and pocket contents in his hands.

He glanced at his feet, sock covered toes curling on the cool floor. Right, he forgot about that.

"Your other things are on your bunk," the archer continued. "But I figured you might want these more."

"And my suit?"

"Set up," Clint said knowingly. "Ready to go."

He didn't bring his suit to the hotel, so he wasn't lying to the Voice, but that didn't mean he didn't bring it with him. The mission he and Steve were on was recon, but the mission the whole team was on was a little bit more than that.

Tony slid on his shoes with a nod of thanks and peeked over Natasha's shoulders. "Got anything?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. The info's the same as what we have, but there's a low level cipher on some of the files. It should be easy to crack."

"How long?"

Natasha shrugged. "Depends on if the easy cipher's got a harder one underneath."

"I _hate _it when that happens."

Bruce chose that time to walk in, scowling and his arms crossed.

"What's with you?" Clint asked, smirking a little.

"Stubborn Captains who insists they're completely fine," he growled. "That's what."

Tony groaned. "You've _got _to be kidding me." He ran a hand through his hair. "Where is he now?"

"Shower. I told him that he wouldn't let me check him out then he should at least go get cleaned off."

He nodded in agreement. Maybe a shower would help with not just the blood and grime, but with the phantom cold as well. He really didn't like the way the Cap shivered even though the heat was on.

True to militaristic form, Steve came in not even a few minutes later. His face was a bit pale and drawn, an ice pack strapped to his left shoulder to deal with the dislocation that was set. The water bottle in his hand trembled slightly, but he looked a lot better than the unstable man back at whatever compound they were held in.

"What do we've got?" He asked, taking his official role as leader.

Bruce kind of hovered around the out-of-time man, eyes raking over him for anything he might have missed in his previous exam. He wasn't exactly an official-_official_ doctor, but he's gotten Tony out of more scraps than he'd like to admit and became the unofficial medic of the team.

"You really should be resting," Bruce said.

"I'm fine."

"_No_ you're _not_." Tony gestured to the water bottle as his prime example.

Steve glanced at it then set it down before shoving his hands in his pockets as they continued to belie his statements of wellness. "I heal faster than normal humans," he reminded them. "Besides, Dr. Banner approves."

Bruce snorted, telling everyone with no words that he absolutely did_ not_ approve. But Steve was stubborn and very convincing when he didn't want to do something (or when he didn't want _them _to do something).

Steve looked a little embarrassed at that noise and shifted on the balls of his feet. "You got anything?" He said again.

Tony turned back to the computer, frowning. He was not happy with this little turn of events and he was really tempted to force Steve to bed himself (making sure his mind steered away from the fact that you could do much more in a bed with another person than sleep…why the hell did he think that?), but there were more important things to do.

Like find out if the caravan of weapons rumor (the one where Tony was called in as a weapons contractor liaison to see if the weapons the UN wanted to use were functional, safe, and eco-friendly. But there was a rumor that some terrorists were going to hijack a caravan of those weapons on the way to the conference) was true and figure out why their capture was all (mostly) tailored to Captain America.

Natasha gave up control, having found nothing after attempting to crack the cipher. "It's not hard," she said. "The cipher, but it's so easy you end up thinking too hard about it. And after looking at the tech holding you two, it's difficult to think easy about this."

"Let me look at it, then," Steve offered.

"No need," Tony said. "Almost got—." He froze. "Wait a minute. This…why would they use this?"

Natasha looked at the note he made then at the text, finally figuring it out. "It's _old_," she said, agreeing. "_Everyone_ knows this! It's in history books. _Why _would they use this?" She looked at Tony when he nudged her, who gestured towards Steve. Then it dawned on her, her face turning white. She cursed in Russian.

"Yeah, you're telling me."

"What?" Steve came over and stared at the screen, his eyes widening. "How?...Why?"

Clint muttered something unpleasant under his breath as the other three Avengers moved closer, though only two of them (Thor not part of that two) understood what was going on. "There's museums dedicated to remembering the war," he explained. "The Howling Commandoes' code, the one you used, was a prominent piece even if people were only vaguely told of the significance."

Steve choked on a word, cleared his throat, and tried again. "So…this could be anyone?"

"In theory…yeah." Tony kind of shuffled away from the soldier. Not because he was getting himself out of the line of fire, but because if he didn't move away then he would move closer for some inexplicable reason. Probably to comfort Steve, which was weird because Tony didn't do comforting. "This whole thing may have been just for you."

"_Me?_" Steve said incredulously. "But they asked for _your_ suit." His eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. "Your Iron Man suit is _much _more reason—." His mouth noticeably clamped shut. "…What would they want me for?"

Tony didn't like the way he cut himself off or the strange darkness in his eyes, but before he could say anything Thor tapped the screen harder than necessary.

"Testing?" The Asgardian offered. "Your blood, it is special, is it not?"

Steve frowned. "Yeah, but that's not common knowledge. Anyone involved in the project is dead. The only ones who know are the American government, SHIELD, and, well, you guys."

Silence reign the moderate sized room. Tony had a pretty good idea as to what they were all thinking of, seeing how he was thinking the same thing (maybe).

Either they had a traitor in SHIELD or in the government or among themselves (yeah, doubt that one)…or someone from the project so long ago was alive. But he didn't remember any testing on Steve…not that he would notice in the seventeen hours he was out (was it healthy to be out for that long from a blow to the head? Maybe he should get Bruce to check him over).

Steve shook his head. "I doubt anyone's a traitor," he said out loud, easing everyone's tense musings. "And if someone from the project was still alive they would just come up straight and ask."

Of course, that didn't rule out revenge. There were still some enemies still alive from the 40s.

"Besides," Steve continued. "I don't remember any testing going on any of the times I was awake."

"Hey…wait, hold on. You woke up before me?" Tony demanded.

"Kind of." Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "It's a little fuzzy, I passed out right after most of the time, but I _know_ I wasn't tested on."

"Perhaps they waited for _you _to awake, Tony," Thor said.

"…maybe." But Tony wasn't so sure. He was positive this was about Steve, he just didn't know how. Something didn't sit right we thing (and then something else did, but that was all kinds of weird).

Natasha put a full unscramble on the stolen text. Now that they knew it was the Howling Commandoes' code they didn't really have to do that, but one look at Steve and Tony was glad she did. He didn't really want to put Steve back in the past and brooding by making him read it. They'd just gotten him regularly using his cell phone instead of leaving it at home (granted it was a cheap, old-fashion flip phone, but it was still progress). Tony file-locked the original documents for further research.

"Maybe someone's hacking SHIELD's mainframe for files on the Cap," Bruce mused. He grinned sheepishly at the looks he got for that little thought. "Oh, right. Of course."

Tony smirked. Only two people in the whole world could hack that data-tight wall of security without have the access most agents had. Those two people were him and Bruce. And that was usually a combine effort after Tony's little search virus back with the Loki chaos.

That chaos wasn't something they liked to think about.

"From what I can tell," Clint said, studying the screen with the Widow. "That weapons caravan ambush is real, just not in the scale we were led to believe. It was either bait or out info was a tad off. We should stop it anyway, though; keep a few dozen terrorist in their holes."

"Right, Clint." Steve's shoulders drawing up in posture. "Is the info right about it being tonight?"

"Oh, _no_. You are _not_ going," Bruce snapped. "It's bad enough you won't rest, I'm not letting you go on a mission. Even a small one…Hey! Neither are you, Stark!"

Tony pouted, but a grin fought its way to his face. Wow, Bruce hardly even called him Stark anymore. This must be serious.

Steve frowned. "Dr. Banner, I—."

"_No_."

"…No?"

Bruce looked smug. "Yes, no. While you may be the leader, Steve, right now you are injured, in which case _compromised_. That means, as the medic of this team (no matter under qualified), I can order you to stand down…that also makes me a rank higher than _you_, Tony."

Oh, so they were back to Tony now?

"What do you expect us to do?" The billionaire demanded.

"What did I say before? _Rest_."

Tony groaned. "Sounds boring." He kind of, sort of shut up, though, when there was the tiniest bit of relief visible on Steve's face. He groaned again, this time exasperated. "_Fine_. We'll rest. Right, Cap?"

The other man blinked and nodded. "Right. Natasha, you take point."

There was a brief flash of surprise from the rest of the group when their Cap caved fairly easily, they didn't really notice how tired Steve looked. Tony wondered why _he _noticed and no everyone else (he knew the answer, just didn't want to admit it).

"And Tony," Steve said sharply. "Have Dr. Banner look at your head."

With his last official command of the night, Steve turned heel and walked out, leaving the team behind and Tony staring at his back, the hollow of his chest warming a little.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers.

Warning: The real slash/pre-slash starts here and continues.

* * *

Bitter Beginnings

Mikkal

Chapter 3

* * *

Summary: When a recon mission goes horribly wrong there's a domino effect that leaves Steve cracked and almost broken. Luckily, there's a man made of iron who might just be the one to help. .?docid=27799255slash/Slash

* * *

His watch glowed; informing him it was nine o'clock at night and he'd only been sleeping for an hour or so (a lot of that time was spent with Bruce scolding him for not getting his concussion checked out sooner). Tony groaned and shoved a pillow over his head, wondering what the hell woke him up seeing how no one could be in the base except Bruce, Steve, and some random PAs.

But the unmistakable sound of someone shuffling down the short hallways told him that, yes indeed, there was someone walking around. And how much money would he win if he bet it was Steve?

A damn whole lot, that's how much.

Some strange force made him groan yet again before stumbling off his semi-lumpy, but comfortable enough, bunk. He had a feeling that Steve was going to have a hard time sleeping, but couldn't he have waited until Tony got a few more hours of shut eye?

Why the hell was he leaving the warmth of his sheets?

The light in the small kitchenette was on and Steve was at the table, drawing lazily in his sketchbook with a mug of lukewarm coffee in front of him (had to be lukewarm, the maker was three-quarters empty so that meant Bruce made it a while ago) and his injured arm in his lap to keep from jostling it.

"Couldn't sleep?"

Steve jumped so high Tony thought he was going to fall out of his chair. Instead, the soldier grabbed on the edge of the table and flipped his sketchbook close with all the skill of a man who was use to hiding his talent.

"You should be asleep." Oh no, he was using his leader voice.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Just like you should. I'm not the one who got chained up, yanked around, electrocuted, and a Howling Commandoes sized can of worms opened all in the same day. If anyone needs the rest, Rogers, it's you."

"What happen to Steve?"

"Huh?"

Steve tapped his pencil on the table top. "You called me Rogers, then Steve, and now we're back to Rogers. Have I done something to bother you?"

"What? No." Tony had no idea how he was getting the impression. It was weird, though, he called him Steve in his head, but Rogers (now) out loud. What was he trying to do?

(It was_ so _obvious.)

"Well it's something, 'cause you keep switching." Damn, he was perceptive when he was running on fumes and probably sore as hell. "In fact…" He swallowed, meeting Tony's eyes levelly. "Every time you call me Steve it's because something happened."

_Damn._

"Maybe you should not sleep more often," Tony joked, tone a little flat. He grabbed a soda (no alcohol on missions, unfortunately.) from the fridge and took an empty seat. "You're very creative when you're dead—I mean, asleep on your feet."

Inwardly he cursed himself. That was ridiculous to say. _Dead_. Not only did it make himself feel dread, but there was a flicker in Steve's eyes.

"So they say," Steve mumbled, glancing at his sketchbook and (thankfully) seeming to forget him little question about names. "Why aren't you asleep?"

"You woke me up, Rogers." Maybe he should start calling him Steve even outside a crisis? (Or Rogers in his head. But he kinda liked the name Steve…what the hell?)

He winced. "Sorry."

Tony waved away the apology. "Forget it. What happen, have a nightmare?" It wasn't unknown for that to happen to all of them. They all had things they'd rather forget just to give them the time to rest.

Steve's hesitation confirmed what he thought. "I've been thinking about our twist," he said.

And Tony so knew he was going to deflect it. Looks like Tony wasn't the only one doing that tonight.

"What about it?" He would let it slide…this time.

Steve twisted his pencil in his hands. "It just…doesn't make any sense." He sounded less like a leader and more like a man who couldn't trust his own thoughts.

Tony had seen it before (once or twice personally) and he hated that Steve sounded like that. It was nothing like the man that managed to live through a time where nothing was the same (not even the pizza).

"I don't like not knowing," Steve continued. "And I don't like asking over and over again and never getting an answer."

"Hey," Tony said sharply, making Steve look at him. "You're not the only one asking. And _we _are going to get answers. Whether we like them or not."

The other man smiled at him, still twisting his pencil. "Maybe you should not sleep too; you've much more touchy-feely when you're half-asleep."

Tony made a face. "Ha, ha, very funny."

"I stand corrected."

He let himself smile. It was nice Steve was joking; he was way too uptight most of the time. They were an entire team of uptight-ers. Thor (to human standards), Natasha, Clint, Fury, Bruce, and Steve. It was like Tony was the only one who could crack a joke (not really _jokes_ per say, more like mock someone until everyone else laughs).

So, yeah, a joking Steve was a good Steve. It made him seem like a regular guy instead of Captain friggin' America. (…not that there was anything wrong with normal Steve. He happened to…like… normal Steve.)

Tony rolled his eyes. "How's your shoulder?"

"Better," he said, twisting his pencil a little harder. "A little sore, but it'll heal."

"That's good." Tony cleared his throat awkwardly; he felt way too much relief at that piece of news to be considered normal. "…Could you stop doing that?"

Steve froze just in time to snap the pencil in half, sending pieces of it all over the table. Swearing he starting sweeping up a few splinters with his hand. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Tony sighed and helped him. "You should really relax, Steve. All this freaking out isn't going to help."

The Cap was silent for a long moment; eyes fixated on Tony's hands as the billionaire brushed the splinters onto the floor (forget trashcans!)

"Thank you, Tony."

He had a feeling Steve was thanking him for more than just brushing up a few pieces of wood. Tony drummed his fingers on the table before getting up abruptly and grabbing another soda. This time he leaned against the counter.

What he would give for a scotch right now. Even a beer would be better than a stupid soda.

"You should draw something," he said suddenly.

Steve stared at him in surprise. "What?"

"I won't look, I promise," Tony assured. "I'll stay _allll_ the way over here. I just…wanna see you draw," he finished lamely.

"…I'm not very good," Steve said, but he flipped open the sketchbook Parker and Storm bought him and took up a pencil anyway.

He didn't question why Tony was all of a sudden being creepy and why his creepiness manifested in a strange urge to see the Cap draw.

If Tony was him then he would _seriously_ question it.

But the only time he had ever seen Steve at least a little relaxed was when he was drawing and sometimes when he was sleeping. He couldn't sleep so drawing was the next best thing. If he didn't relax any time soon then Steve was just going to _snap_.

And it really did look relaxing. A slow smile worked its way on Steve's face, making him actually look his age (minus 70ish years on ice). He glanced at Tony every now and then and Tony got the uncomfortable feeling the man was drawing him.

Now he regretted promising he wouldn't look.

Steve drew and drew…and drew. Tony checked his watch (he loved his watch now) and found it to be two hours since he was woken by Steve. And who knew how long the Cap was awake before him.

When was the rest of the team going to get back? It was simple caravan ambush prevention. Easy as pie (not that Tony knew how to make pie, but according to Pepper it was easy.)

"Can you make pie?" Great, being weird again.

"I use to," Steve said, slightly muffled by the hand he was leaning against. Seemed as if he was finally getting tired. "Back when I was trying to get the army." He yawned. "Bucky couldn't cook to save his life," he mumbled, pencil strokes getting slower.

"Bucky?" That name sounded familiar.

"Yeah." Steve yawned again. "But everything's different. Can't make pie now."

Tony grinned as Steve continuously forced his eyes open. "Why not?"

"Everything's different," he said again. "Can't figure out how it works." He waved a hand around vaguely, like he was trying to pull the words out of thin air. "Everything's bright, and noisy, and fast, and confusing. And there's no time for anything." He shook his head, slipping off his hand for a second. "No pie."

More than just pie.

He felt a little bad now. Under different circumstances this would be a little funny. But the only reason why Steve was telling him this was because he was hurt and tired. There was an emotion behind his words that Tony felt like he should un-hear.

Tony set his (fourth) drink down and walked up to the soldier. "I think it's time for you to sleep," he informed him.

Steve just blinked up at him lethargically.

He sighed and flipped the sketch closed (not without taking a peek…(sorry, he lied earlier)…of a sketch of his Iron Man suit being taken off by the machines on the roof of Stark Tower. It was amazingly detailed) and tucked it under his arm.

"Come on, Steve," he grunted, pulling the Cap up by his uninjured arm. "Let's get you to bed."

"Not tired."

Tony chuckled. "I think you are." This was priceless; Captain America was acting like a child refusing a bed time.

He mumbled something else that Tony didn't quite catch before the two of them stumbled (Steve was a pretty big guy) down the hallways to Steve's temporary room. Tony pushed open the door, put the sketchbook on top of the lone duffle in the corner, and made Steve sit down.

At that moment he'd never been so grateful his friend (friend?) had the foresight to pull on some sweats and a shirt. This meant he didn't have to wake the Cap up to get him to change (or change him himself…oh God, that would be…bad).

"It's freezing in here," he said. Like, _really_ freezing. He was pretty sure he couldn't feel his fingers already.

Steve shuddered, eyes slipping close. "I k-know."

"Ah, shit, Steve." He checked the flashing thermostat and changed it so the temperature was a whole lot higher. The heat came on and it was already a few degrees warmer. Chances are that coldness (like _ice_) didn't help with the nightmares.

The Cap didn't bother answering; instead he wrapped his arms around himself in a comforting hug. Tony pushed his right shoulder, urging him to lie down. Maybe now they could both get some sleep. It was pretty rough day.

Steve grabbed his wrist, squeezing it tightly. "Wait," he said harshly.

The two of them stared at each other, Tony taken aback by the intensity in Steve's blue eyes.

"Steve…"

"Don't leave," he begged.

Tony heart skipped a beat…because this wasn't Steve. Yeah, that's it. If Steve was more aware he wouldn't be doing this…he didn't know if he should be disappointed about that or not.

"What do you want me to do?" Tony asked, almost at a whisper. Like if he spoke any louder the moment would be ruined.

"I don't know," Steve admitted. "Just don't leave."

Tony eased himself near the head of the bed, leaning against the wall and resting the pillow against his thigh. He wasn't going to be happy about this position in the morning when he had a sore neck, but this was better—more comfortable (less awkward at this point) than what the alternative was.

Steve smile gratefully and spread out on the bed, pushing the pillow away and just straight up using Tony's leg to cushion his head.

"Night, Tony.

Tony ran his hand through Steve's hair without thinking. He paused, snatching his hand back, fingers tingling. He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and ran his fingers through blond locks again.

"Night, Steve."

He was never going to get to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers.

And I know the Human Torch isn't one of the Fantastic Four who becomes an official Avenger. I'm basing this on the two movies that came out and I feel that one would.

* * *

Bitter Beginnings

Mikkal

Chapter 4

* * *

Summary: When a recon mission goes horribly wrong there's a domino effect that leaves Steve cracked and almost broken. Luckily, there's a man made of iron who might just be the one to help. Pre-slash/Slash

* * *

"Steve, Tony's not!—Oh…"

Tony blinked, saw a flash of Natasha smiling at him, groaned, and then turned over to bury his head against the very warm pillow next to him.

His eyes shot open.

_Oh hell_.

Not a pillow.

_Not a pillow_!

Mayday!

He jerked up and away from the still sleeping Steve Rogers, successfully untangling his legs from the soldier's and scrambling off the bed without waking him up.

How the hell did he end up in that position? He could have sworn—never mind. Crisis adverted—

Natasha smiled even brighter.

—_Mostly_ adverted.

"You say anything—."

She smirked. "You do realize I could kick your ass from here to Cancun before you even _think _about putting on your suit?"

Tony snapped his mouth shut. "Just…don't say anything, okay?"

Natasha chuckled. "Promise." Her smile was a bit _too_ shady; he would have to keep a close ear on her chit-chats with everyone else. "Wake him up. Fury's got a debriefing before we head home."

"_Home_?" He hissed. "What about figuring out why Steve was the center of attention?"

"That wasn't our mission," she said, though she didn't look too happy about the orders. "Fury says to work on it from home, if you need to be sent back here then he'll send you back here. Granted, that's only as long as there aren't any missions going on."

He didn't like that…he didn't like that at all. But, really, there was nothing he could do about it…It wasn't like he had a private jet that didn't need Fury's permission to take off. Yeah, he could deal with being sent back stateside, just as long as he wasn't Tower-confined.

He still wasn't happy about it.

Tony shook the Cap's shoulder. "Rogers…Steve, wake up." Steve, remember _Steve_. Not Rogers, not after last night.

He glared at Natasha as she sniggered once more, prompting her to leave with a roll of her eyes and that damn smirk still on her lips. Then he turned around just in time to dodge a fist coming straight for his face.

"Shit!"

Steve followed his fist and rolled off the bed, crashing to the floor with an undignified yelp. Tony couldn't help but laugh even as he helped the soldier pick himself off the floor.

"Not funny," he groaned, rubbing his shoulder.

"It's a little funny," Tony said. He sat him on the bed and pulled the collar of his shirt down to take a peek at his injury. Trying really hard to ignore the fact that he woke up practically spooning with the man.

It wasn't really working.

"Your shoulder okay?"

Was it just him or did Steve turn pink? Because Tony was invading his personal space (why exactly was he doing that?) or because he remembered last night (God, he hoped not)? Either way, he pulled away slightly so Tony was forced to let go or else risking stretching the Army shirt Steve loved so much.

"It's fine. Just sore." He stood up and walked to where his duffle was. "What'd you wake me up for?"

"Mission's over," he said. "We're getting debriefed and sent home."

Steve gave him a started look, eyes widening.

"I know," Tony said without Steve uttering a word. "I thought the same thing. Apparently Fury said to work on it from home."

He fumbled with the shirt he was pulling out. "You're still going to work on this?" He asked in tone akin to disbelief.

Tony gave him a strange look. "Of course I am. I told you last night, we're going to get answers whether we like them or not."

That made Steve's face turn an interesting shade of red.

"What?"

"I didn't think you'd remember that," Steve admitted. "You were pretty tired."

Tony coughed. "Well, so were you."

Ironically, they both thought the other person was going to forget the conversation they had last night. Now Tony only hoped Steve forgot about their little sleeping arrangement.

It was one thing to figure out a few things. It was a whole other matter to have the other person figure out what he figured out and completely shoot them down. It would suck even more because he wasn't completely sure about it himself.

(Because he, unfortunately, really did believe Steve would totally shoot him down.)

"So, I'm gonna go," Tony said, breaking the awkward silence that descended upon then. "You can change and whatnot…and think. And meet us in the main room ready to go." He backed up to the door.

Steve laughed at his awkwardness (how dare he!). "Thanks, Tony."

And this time Tony knew he was thanking him for nothing more than simply not explaining exactly what happened after Steve got sufficiently tired and revealed a few things more than he would like. None of the Avengers liked to talk about their past to each other (Thor and Bruce, on the other hand, were practically forced to due to a circumstance with the god and Bruce technically have no choice due to his…anger management problems).

Tony smiled at him and left, heading to his own room. He was still trying to wrap his head around what happened yesterday (day and night).

He'd known Steve Rogers for how long? Eight-ish months.

There were a few weeks where they briefly met before the Loki fiasco.

Then the _actual _Loki fiasco.

Two months of Steve going on a little road trip with check in calls (that he kind of, sort of looked forward only to hear the stories. _Not _because of…well. Yeah. No).

And then the Avengers officially becoming the go-to hero team after the Fantastic Four (seriously?) hung up their tights for the domestic side for only a few more years (minus the Torch and the Thing who jumped in every now and then).

Then three hardcore missions involving von Doom and the Lizard (with help from Spidey) and some sonic twins.

And two low level missions with some terrorist thwarting in between.

Almost that entire time (minus two months of no-Steve and the first month of before and after the Fiasco when Steve was SHIELD _property…_he hated that term) Steve had been living with Tony, like all the other Avengers, in the Stark Tower/Avengers Mansion. The soldier had the floor above Tony's so they ran into each other quite a lot.

It took him awhile to see it. In fact, it took him until yesterday to see it. But there was…_something_ about Steve Rogers that made his slightly chaotically organized mind turn into mush. At first he thought it was just because of the stories his father told him when he was young—the whole celebrity crush thing going on and all—that turned to resentment when Howard Stark spent more time with SHIELD (not that he knew it was SHIELD, Tony thought it was just regular work) and the memory of Captain America than he did with his own son.

Hearing that they found the Cap brought that resentment back up after a few or so years of pushing it out of his mind.

But meeting Steve for the first time threw him through a loop. In his mind Steve Rogers was a bastard who was no more heroic than Tony Stark himself (because, hey, he really wasn't that heroic. The Cap called him out on that…before). But, he was just kidding himself.

Because Captain Steve fucking Rogers was the pinnacle of human perfection.

And Tony felt like he was inadequate.

So he chalked his feeling of _something_ to some-how-returned celebrity crush (kind of like how Coulson felt with his vintage cards and Captain America sketches he swore were costume designs), but with the events of last night and Steve's revelation that Tony only said his first name if something bad or horrifying happened to him made Tony realize that the _something _he had been hiding from wasn't really just _something._

He was _so_ close to completely figuring it out. It was more than a crush or a friendship. He felt the urge to protect the Cap even if the soldier was probably the one protecting him. He felt worried when something happened to him. Sometimes even fear for himself because he didn't want to leave Steve alone.

Tony shook his head, zipped up his suitcase, and headed to the main room. He was going to make his head explode if he thought too much about this. Really, he should just let reality flow like it was supposed to and hope for the best…which wasn't exactly his strong point.

He just really, really, _really_ hoped he didn't get broken in the process. It was one thing to lose Pepper to Happy (they were actually very good for each other) three weeks after the Loki thing, it was another to put his whole being into something and have it fall into pieces…

…_stop thinking about it, Damnit!_

"You okay, Stark?" Clint asked, actually sounding worried (if you could hear it through his gruffness).

Tony mumbled something about being "absolutely fine" and for him to "mind his own damn business."

The archer smirked. "I heard you and the Cap were found gettin' a little cozy this morning. Care to elaborate on that?"

"No comment." That usually worked, right? He was a little hazy on the details.

Clint opened his mouth to rib him further when Steve walked in, shoulders back (no more ice packs), dressed in clean jeans (finally, no khaki) and a tucked in plaid shirt (he's working on it) and his bomber jacket.

He was totally in leader mode.

"Good, you're all here," Fury's hologram (courtesy of Stark Industries) said and then kept talking about things Tony didn't really care about. Mission summary blah blah screw ups blah blah work from home blah blah clearance levels blah blah blah.

Normal stuff.

"And Thor," the hologram switched so it was Coulson in view, still a little hunched from the soreness permeating his body (he described it as a concrete block sitting on his chest for a few hours).

"Son of Coul!" Thor was always incredibly happy to see the agent, especially after the fiasco that is called Loki.

Coulson smiled slightly. "Miss. Foster wants you to come to New Mexico, she has another theory to test out and she needs you."

Thor boomed out a happy laugh (because that's all he could do in that kind of mood). "It would be my honor to go to new land of Mexico and help my Jane."

He didn't bother waiting for a plane.

Tony rolled his eyes. Really? I mean, seriously. _Really? _

"Your plane leaves in half an hour," Coulson continued. "I trust you'll be ready?"

"Of course, sir," Steve said, almost saluting. "Oh, Phil…how are you feeling?"

Tony could have sworn Coulson just swooned. Being asked by his greatest hero how he was feeling? That was next greatest thing to marrying your hero.

"I'm better, Captain Rogers," Coulson said, slightly breathless.

As much as Tony thought it was funny he found himself getting a little annoyed at Coulson's behavior.

"Steve," the soldier replied. "Call me Steve. I've told you that a dozen times."

Okay. More than a little annoyed. Did this annoy him before?

"I'm much better, Steve," Coulson replied, smiling.

…actually, yeah, he did. Huh, why didn't he see that before?

"And before I forget, Fury actually wants you to come in personally, Rogers" Coulson said, back to business. "He wants a sitrep by you before this can be filed under closed or ongoing."

Clint snorted behind them all. "This isn't NCIS, Coulson," he said. "We don't file any of our missions like that."

"I know." Coulson glared almost playfully. "Just let me live the moment."

The archer put his hands in the air, giving up. "Your moment. Live it."

Coulson didn't get to live his moment any longer, there was a fritz in the hologram and he disappeared.

Everyone turned to look at Tony.

"Still working out a few kinks," he said (which was totally true). He still couldn't get projections in real time to work out. Recorded stuff, yeah. Real time, no.

Steve grinned. "Okay, guys. Let's go." He shouldered his duffle, only wincing a little.

Which, of course, sent Bruce into a miniature frenzy. He poked Steve harshly in his good shoulder, grabbed the man's duffle, and stomped away. All the while muttering curses under his breath.

Natasha burst out laughing at the complete and utter shock on Steve's face. She leaned against the snickering Clint as they both headed out to the Quinjet.

"Did he just…?"

Tony chuckled. "Yes, yes he did." He put his hand on the small of Steve's back and guided him out. _Don't flinch, Stark. Whatever you do, don't flinch. _"Come on, Steve."

And he was kind of willing (with his mind because Tony Stark was that good) Steve to stay where he was too.

Steve smiled. "Crisis over and you're still calling me Steve. Should I feel special?"

Tony didn't meet his eyes, feeling his face heat up. "I don't know," he said. "Should you?"

That made Steve laugh, which was what Tony was really going for (uh-huh, yep, really). What he failed to voice out loud was that Steve was wrong.

Oh so wrong.

The crisis was _not _over.

No, the crisis was still very much happening.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or any other Marvel characters

Correction: The Human Torch was a "Secret Avenger" during the Civil War Arc, but briefly so it generally doesn't count.

Next Chapter: Things start to come to to light, and it isn't pretty. (and there's slash..of course)

* * *

Bitter Beginnings

Mikkal

Chapter Five

* * *

Summary: When a recon mission goes horribly wrong there's a domino effect that leaves Steve cracked and almost broken. Luckily, there's a man made of iron who might just be the one to help. Pre-slash/Slash

* * *

Four o'clock in the morning was the absolute _perfect_ time to be awake. He yawned, the hologram turned fuzzy at the edges and his world titled 40 degrees to the left.

Okay…maybe not.

He rubbed his burning eyes and dragged a hand down his face. God, he was tired. But he wasn't tired. He was losing hope.

Which wasn't something he did everyday...

Two days. Two days since he ended up stateside and he had yet to find out why the hell Steve was targeted. It was annoying. It was frustrating.

And he wasn't going to give up. Lose hope, maybe, but not give up. He needed to do this. For Steve.

But, first, he needed some coffee. Or a scotch. Or both. (Mixed together? That would be new…and probably disgusting.)

He found a surprise when he walked into the kitchen: Steve, staring at the counter with a coontemplative look on his face.

It was weird to see him. The first day they were all back was fine. _Maybe_ Tony was more willing than usual to be closer to Steve, but the day was fine. But then yesterday was weird, Steve was snappish and standoffish and avoiding them all. It was disconcerting.

And was a little hurtful…not that Tony would admit that out loud.

"You should be asleep," Tony said, wincing at the déjà vu.

Steve smiled brightly at him, almost too brightly. He could tellsomething was wrong. This was way different than normal Steve, leader Steve, and yesterday Steve. (lots and lots of Steves…enough to have a little—no.)

"I didn't know you were still awake," he said, a little guarded, but nothing _too_ different. "…I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"Nope," he said. "I was working." He moved fully into the kitchen where Steve was now pouring some…lemonade? He knew the soldier couldn't get drunk, but couldn't he at least pretend or something?

There were dark bruises under Steve's eyes despite his energetic (read: creepy) smile. He sagged like he was Atlas holding the weight of the sky on his shoulders. (Somehow some high school literature got stuck in his head…weird.)

Tony sighed. "I'm not kidding, Steve. When was the last time you slept the whole night through?"

He smiled bitterly. "You're one to talk."

"I actually get to sleep," Tony replied, scowling. Steve was not making this whole "mother hen" worrying thing easy…just embarrassing. "Just at strange times. You, on the other hand, haven't slept since we returned."

And he hoped no one noticed that he'd been paying attention to that.

Steve ignored him and took a sip of his lemonade (who even made that?). Tony plucked the drink right out of his hands and set it down.

"You're not making this any easier, Spangles," he said, hands on his hips in a pose he would never (_ever_) admit he got from Steve. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Steve replied stubbornly. He reached around Tony to grab his glass, only to have the billionaire push it away.

It teetered on the edge of the counter for a moment before it settled on the solid top. Tony sighed in relief. That would've been _bad_.

"Bullshit, Steve," Tony said, crossing his arms now. He could be just as stubborn as Steve (or maybe even more). "You're worrying me."

"Then stop worrying about it!" Steve snapped.

Tony eyes widened in surprise. Steve hadn't snapped at him like that in a long time (even if his comeback didn't make much sense). "Steve..." A flare of anger burst in his chest. "Steve, you—."

"You know what?" Steve ran a hand through his hair, shoulders sagging even more. "Forget it. Just forget this conversation ever happened." He turned away and headed to the balcony. "Go back to work, Stark."

And his anger died.

"Tony," he corrected. "I call you Steve, you call me Tony."

A flash of a smile then Steve was out the door. Tony watched him lean against the railing and stare out at the city sky line. And then he had an idea.

A very bad idea because it meant he wouldn't be able to get his scotch or more work done, or get to sleep (at one point).

But he was worrying enough it. And his brain (heart?) was urging him to do this. Because, after all, Steve sounded really sad when he was talking about how he couldn't make pie anymore.

So let's make pie!

Tony slid open the balcony door and went out. "I have an idea," he announced over the wind.

"That's never a good thing." Steve didn't turn around, but it sounded as if he was joking…hopefully.

He grinned either way. "My ideas are _always_ good. But this is more than good."

Steve sighed and turned around. "You're not going to leave me alone, are you?"

"Nope!" Tony said brightly. Figured the happier/goofier he acted the sooner he could get Steve laughing at him. He didn't like it when people laughed at him being stupid, but Steve was an exception.

Steve chuckled.

_Success_!

"What's your 'more-than-good- idea?" The soldier asked, grinning. It wasn't a creepy one either.

Tony rubbed his hands together. "I show you how the oven works and you teach me how to make pie."

"…You want to make…pie? Now?"

"Yes, now. When is there a better time?"

"That's a good question."

Tony clapped. "Good! Now that we've got that settled." He led the way back into the kitchen. "What kind of pie should we make?"

Steve laughed again and started rummaging through the pantry and fridge in search of pie making…stuff. "I like apple."

"Oh wow, that's a piece of information I would have _never _guessed," Tony said sarcastically.

The other man threw a bag of blueberries at his face, making Tony dodge in order to save the perfection that was him.

"Do you have everything?" He asked. If he didn't, what a way to end it before it even begins.

"Yeah," Steve said, bent over to grab some pans from a bottom cabinet (it was a great view, Tony had to admit). "I kinda, sorta, made Bruce grab all of this when he went shopping yesterday." (the bad day.)

Tony smirked. "You were going to ask me about making pie, weren't you?"

He flushed pink. "Maybe," he muttered. "Just not tonight…" he checked the clock. "This morning…Are you sure you wanna make pie _now_?"

"Perfect time!" Tony piped up.

Maybe he could get Steve tired enough (like before, but with pie now instead of drawing) he'd just pass out with no nightmares. That was his goal…besides learning how to make pie and seeing just how good of a cook Steve really is. Oh, and watching the Cap cook was probably well worth it.

One perfect Steve-made apple pie later and Tony was urging him to make another.

"I thought you wanted to learn," Steve said, amusement in his voice. "Watching me cook doesn't mean you learn, it just means you're…watching."

Tony stared at him then shook his head, blinking rapidly. "What? I'm sorry, you were saying?" He got distracted by the sight of Steve Roger with flour on his shirt and a pie in his hand. It was an…_interesting_ picture.

Now he wished he could draw.

"_Tony_," Steve said sternly, smiling.

"Okay, okay." Tony grabbed the discarded blueberry bag. "Show me how to make blueberry pie."

Two more Steve-made pies, one Tony-failed pie, and one and a half Tony-success pies (the other half was eaten. By Steve no less. Along with the first two pies ever made that night) later Tony realized that in about five minutes the other Avengers would be coming in the kitchen for breakfast.

…would they be willing to have pie?

"You should go to bed, Steve," Tony said. And so should he himself too. "You're allowed to sleep during the day too, ya know."

Steve hesitated, something flashing in his eyes that made Tony uneasy. "Nah, I'm okay."

"You sure?" Tony asked, skeptical. The mood in the room when from high to low.

The soldier glanced at him and then at the pies they made then back at him. He mutely shook his head ever so slightly.

Tony swallowed. Did Steve just admit out loud (sort of) that he wasn't okay? Oh God, then something was seriously, seriously, _seriously_ wrong. As a leader Steve felt that he should always be strong; just like Tony felt, as himself, he shouldn't so any weakness. They were all that.

He moved closer. "Steve, what's wrong? You can tell me." He wasn't good at this touchy feely stuff. What was he suppose to say? _I'm here for you. You're not alone_. All the stuff out of those trashy novels Pepper use to read. "Nightmares?"

Steve opened his mouth to answer (hopefully) just when Clint walked in and said, "Why do I smell pie?"

He cleared his throat and answered, "Because Tony and I made pie."

"Why the hell would you make pie?"

"We wanted to."

"…is it any good?"

"See for yourself."

And then Tony never got a chance to confront Steve again that morning. Which really pissed him off.

What pissed him off more, though, was Bruce dragging Steve out on the balcony and practically interrogating him.

I mean, he knew Bruce was a little paranoid about losing any of them since they were, honestly, the only consistent thing in his life in a very long time. But did he have to be so forceful? He was the most…sensitive out of all of them (except for maybe Maria, but they didn't see her often enough), but that didn't mean Steve (the second more sensitive yet shut tighter than a clam) was willing to talk to Bruce.

Tony kind of hoped Steve was only willing to talk to him.

Which was also doubtful.

He was the least sensitive out of all of them (Natasha and Clint had some weird bond going on and Thor had Jane so they were at least a _little_ sensitive).

Tony went back to his lab as his teammates dug into the pie and pulled out the stolen documents again. He kept pulling them out since they got back and reading them, but never finding anything new. It was weird.

Something beeped at him and he pulled it up. Schematics for the Avengers' floor popped up, flashing

He frowned, someone was trying (and failing) at access his mainframe. "JARVIS," he said, "pull up a cage and isolate whatever the hell that it."

"Will do, sir."

There was another beep and the flashing stopped. Tony frowned deeper and started going through the data.

"Sir, it has disappeared."

"Disappeared as in you got it or disappeared as in you lost it?" He asked.

"I have lost it, sir."

Tony swore. He had a feeling it was the latter and not the former. But guessing didn't make it any better. There was someone with enough resources to hack into _his_ mainframe. That was unheard of. It's not like he was SHIELD or _worse_.

"Did it get anything?"

"No, sir. It attempted to access the Avengers' floors, but failed."

"Yeah, I got that." Tony dragged a hand down his face. "Run a diagnostic. I wanna know where it came from and what it wanted."

He was going to do it himself, but his thoughts were once again distracted by Steve. So, just for now, he was going let JARVIS do all the work and he was going to attempt to talk to Steve again. Maybe he could do something else. No more pie or drawing.

Now it was just going to be him and Steve.

That plan, when it happened, didn't work out exactly the way he wanted it to.

Actually, it didn't work _at all _how he wanted.

Mostly because, when Tony came back to kitchen and went into the attached living room, he found Bruce sitting, reading a book, and Steve spread out on the couch, sleeping.

"Why didn't he go to his room?"

Bruce shrugged. "I don't know, actually."

Tony crouched next the sleeping man, smiling at how relaxed and young he looked with all the hard lines in his forehead and around his eyes smoothed out. He brushed a lock of blond hair from his face, completely forgetting Bruce was sitting right there.

"You know," the scientist said. "He has feelings for you too."

Tony snorted. "That's a weird way of putting it. _Feelings_ for me. Ha." Doubtful, very doubtful. He already felt creepy enough as it is, he didn't need Bruce going on about _feelings_. Especially since Bruce was probably off his rocker.

"I'm not lying."

He shook his head. He was so going to regret saying this later. "People don't have 'feelings' for me, Bruce. They lust after me or they use me or both. There aren't any 'feelings' involved."

Bruce sighed. "You need to take this chance, Tony." He grinned. "And I don't see you denying _your_ feelings for _him_."

Tony glared at him, which only made Bruce smirk.

"I'm gonna leave you two alone," he said. "You should probably get him to his bed, but don't do anything more. You both need your sleep."

He childishly stuck out his tongue as Bruce took his book to his own room. Tony's cheeks warmed. Unbelievable. Why would Bruce even suggest that? Especially the _feelings._ Who had _feeling_ anymore?

Oh, apparently he did.

"Steve, come on." Tony shook his shoulder, leaning a little farther away after remembering last time. "You have a perfectly good bed upstairs."

Steve groaned and shifted. His eyes opened in slits and looked up at him. "Don't wanna." He yawned. "My room's weird."

Tony's eyebrows furrowed. "How is your room weird?"

"It just is." Steve pulled on Tony's arm. "You're warm."

And Tony suddenly found himself in the same position he was in not too long ago: spooning against Captain America.

What the hell?

…not that it was a bad thing.

Steve buried his head against Tony's shoulder. "Go to sleep, Tony," he murmured.

And déjà vu all over again.

He was never going to get to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers.

I don't like this image "story cover" thing…Anyway. Stats: 28 pages (single spaced), 14,367 words, Six chapters, and 41 reviews in….about 13 days. That's an update record for me…

* * *

Bitter Beginnings

Mikkal

Chapter Six

* * *

Summary: When a recon mission goes horribly wrong there's a domino effect that leaves Steve cracked and almost broken. Luckily, there's a man made of iron who might just be the one to help. Pre-slash/Slash

* * *

Steve was the first one to wake up this time. Tony knew that because the soldier accidently squeezed him a little too hard in a quick stretch, thus waking _him_ up.

Tony opened his eyes to find blue ones staring right at him, Steve's cheeks dusting pink.

"Hi," the Cap said, embarrassed, but he didn't seem to want to move.

He grinned. Well, neither did he. "Hey."

"…You're warm."

Tony chuckled. "So you've said." This was good. This was _very_ good. Steve wasn't moving away…he could almost sing (except he _won't)._

"Sorry," Steve said. "I didn't mean to pull you down like that. I'm…I'm surprised you stayed."

If he could shrug he would've. But he didn't want to seem too nonchalant, so it was probably a good thing he couldn't.

"I don't mind," he answered honestly.

His blush got darker. "I sleep better…next to you," he mumbled that last part. "…My room's weird."

Tony frowned, latching onto the room tidbit and ignoring the way his stomach flopped at the fact Captain America slept better next to _him_. "You said that too. What's wrong with your room?"

Steve faltered, staring at the Arc reactor instead of his face. "It's too high-techy?" He finally settled on.

He didn't buy it for one moment.

But he'd roll with it. He was going to take the scenic route to the answer, that way Steve wouldn't feel too pressured.

"Steve, I can help. It's my tower, after all. _My_ mainframe." He placed a hand on a well-toned bicep (_Don't. Move_). "I can change anything you want."

"Honestly?" Steve moved a bit closer, their noses almost touching. "I'd rather just sleep right here, ya know?"

His heart raced and his mind stuttered to a halt. For once he couldn't think of any words to say. Did Steve just—? Should he—?...Was this a joke?

Tony Stark was speechless.

Disappointment flashed in Steve's gorgeous blue eyes, taking Tony's silence as a rejection.

He heaved a sigh and untangled his body from the billionaire's (Tony suddenly felt…hollow). "I'm sorry," he said, face carefully blank. "I think I'll attempt my room again." He checked the clock to see that it was eleven in the (still?) morning. "Let me know when Natasha wants to force us to go out for lunch."

Tony pulled himself up and watched Steve leave.

What was wrong with him?

He groaned and cradled his head in his hands. This week was just not going for him.

First he's worried Steve's going to reject him and then he turns around and accidently rejects Steve! He had been (half-secretly) waiting for this forever!

But it was hard to believe. He always thought he would be stuck _crushing_ on Steve until the Cap finally found someone else. And even then Tony would still crush on him and drown himself in alcohol. Standard procedure.

He hadn't thought Steve might possibly return his "feelings." He still didn't think it.

But, for some reason, Steve did…And, despite his intent and purpose, Tony _rejected_ him.

..._What the hell was wrong with him?_

Tony tapped his knuckles on his forehead and grumbled insults to himself.

"You really screwed _that_ up."

His head snapped up and he saw Clint glaring at him. "Not you too," he said, groaning.

Clint smirked. "It's kinda obvious, man."

"How? _How _is it obvious? I just figured it out a few days ago!" He wasn't _that_ damn readable. He shouldn't be.

"We know." The archer shook his head. "Don't worry," he assured. "It's the only thing you're obvious about. And it's only the second thing he's obvious about."

Tony stopped running his hands through his hair and stared at him. "You noticed that too?"

"We all did." Clint took a seat on the coffee table (like he wasn't supposed to, jerk). "And it's freaking us out. We figured you could handle it. But Natasha noticed it was actually getting worse."

"And not replying didn't help either," Tony muttered. He stood up. "I should go talk to him."

"No."

"What?" Tony glared at him. "Why not? I need to fix this."

Clint raised his hands to calm him. "Because you're…volatile right now. And he's hurt. Let him think for a little bit. That gives you time to rehearse what you're gonna say."

See? _Sensitive. _

He sighed. "Fine."

Tony was planning on _not_ following what Clint said, but Clint kept an eye on him like a hawk. He could feel the man stare at the back of his head as the billionaire went down to his lab instead of up to Steve's room like he wanted.

Of course, being Tony, he didn't rehearse things. So he made himself get distracted by reviewing the documents again (in hindsight, he should've checked on Steve's room through his computer. Shit's always 20/20).

"Sir, the temperature in Captain Rogers' room has been manually lowered twenty degrees."

"That's nice, JARVIS." Tony paused in his work. "…wait, what'd you say?"

"It has now been lowered about another twenty degrees, sir."

"…Steve doesn't know how to work the thermostat…" His eyes widened. "Shit!" He pulled up the readings for the Avengers' floors. They were all the correct standard temperature, except the meter for Steve's room was flashing at 32 degrees. He cursed again.

"JARVIS, increase that."

"I cannot, sir."

And there went another curse. Tony slammed his hands on the desk top and took off upstairs, bypassing the elevator. It would be way too slow.

He knew something was up. It was that weird ghost of data going through his systems that he found the yesterday, but whenever he tried to isolate it, it would seemingly disappear. No matter how hard he tried, it was like it never existed.

Whoever had of it control was dangerously smart (or just getting an insane amount of help), they knew how to trick his own AI into believing it lost the trail when, in reality, it hacked in anyway (_again_).

"JARVIS," he said as he run. "I don't care if you have to delete information or let the virus, or whatever, have it, I want that fucking thing captured!"

"Yes, sir."

Is _this _what Steve meant when his said his room was weird?

Honestly, this was pissing him off. First, this virus probably got into his mainframe the night they returned. Secondly, it was probably coming from the stolen documents he brought back. Finally, he had no idea why it didn't inform him when the mainframe downloaded it in the first place?

It obviously messed with Steve's room as soon as they got back, why didn't the computer beep at him straight away was a mystery he needed to solve.

But first, he needed to get to Steve's Goddamn room!

When he opened the door he was bombarded with freezing cold air that felt way below 32 degrees. Why didn't Steve come talk to him about this? He could've fixed it and save him a whole bunch of nightmares.

…His crushing failure earlier in the day may have been a factor in that.

"Steve?"

Tony entered the dark, cold room and froze. Voices, he could hear voices. And one of them sounded like…his _father_? And Peggy? (greatest babysitter _ever)_

"Steve?" He said again. Something didn't sit right.

He snorted. Well, of course they didn't! Idiot. Some virus cut the heating, put up some very haunting, very creepy recordings of two people he knew and several people he didn't recognize (though Steve did, obviously), and tortured the Cap for…three nights now?

Hell yeah something wasn't right.

"Steve, answer me," he practically begged.

The bed was empty, the sheets strewn everywhere like Steve trashed around. Which wouldn't be surprising.

"T-Tony?"

He cursed. Steve has been whimpering, stuttering, whispering his name in pain far too often these past few days. He was going to put a stop to it.

But first….

Tony found Steve curled in a ball in the corner, a shattered vase at his feet and bloodied hands covering his ears desperately. Gray-blue eyes stared at him in disbelief (…his eyes weren't suppose to be gray…).

He knelt in front of him. "JARVIS, turn it off," he ordered.

"I cannot, sir. Something is overriding my ability to shut anything down in this room."

Steve blinked at him, jaw dropping. "You can…You can hear them?"

Oh God. Steve thought he was _crazy_?

Tony smiled reassuringly at him. "Of course I can hear it," he said gently. "It's a recording."

"It…It is?"

"JARVIS, turn it _down_. Mute it, whatever. Just. Cut. It. Off."

And the sound cut off, right when the sounds of a young man describing a pretty brutal torture/interrogation situation that sounded like he experienced it firsthand.

Steve shuddered and pressed his hands tighter over his ears, a sickening _squish_ coming from the blood.

Tony reached out for him, grabbing the soldier's elbows. "Hey," he said softly. "It's turned off." He didn't get an answer. Tony pulled Steve's hands from his ears by his wrists.

Steve stiffened at the touch, his eyes widening.

"Steve," he said. "Answer me, please."

He finally let out a mangled laugh, tears welling up. "You're _real_." He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Tony's middle and burying his face into his stomach. His shoulders shook, but he didn't let those tears fall. Instead he whispered, "You're real, you're real," over and over in a mind-numbing, heart-breaking mantra.

Tony gripped his shoulders, and pulled him up so they were eye to eye. He cupped the back of the soldier's head and brought his face to the crook of the billionaire's neck. Tony shushed him, rocking back and forth. "What do you mean, I'm real?" He asked carefully, rubbing his back comfortingly. "Of course I'm real."

Steve sobbed, tightening his hug.

"What's going on?"

Tony looked up to see Natasha, Clint, and Bruce staring down at them with different levels of horror on their faces.

Bruce was the first one to react. He pulled the thick comforter off the bed and wrapped it around the shivering Cap before taking out the emergency kit from under the bedside table. The he tried to take one of his injured hands to patch up only to have Steve hold on to Tony tighter.

"What's going on, Tony?" Natasha asked. "JARVIS calls us saying something was happening, and we come here to _this_."

"Something bad. Something _very _bad." He ran a hand through Steve's hair. "Steve, you need to let Bruce look at your hands." The Cap must have broken the vase in attempt to get away from the recordings…the _voices_. "Come on, Spangles."

The nickname spurred Steve to let go, but not move away. "Don't leave," he whispered. "You always leave…just like the others."

Tony sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, clutching Steve tighter because he couldn't himself. This was not happening. This couldn't be happening. "I'm not leaving," he murmured. "I promise."

The two assassins looked away uncomfortably, while Bruce wrapped up Steve's hands.

"We need to do something about this," the scientist said. He looked sternly at Tony, but his eyes softened when they looked back down at the soldier. "Who the hell—?"

"I don't know," Tony growled. "I don't have a fucking clue."

Steve let out a breath before pulling away. "Let's find out," he said, voice slightly shaky and soft. His gaze was steely and like ice, chipping away at Tony as the soldier stared at him.

He stood up and his knees promptly gave out. Tony shot up and caught him just as Bruce wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

"I think you need to sleep," Bruce said.

There was a flash of fear (was that what he had been seeing this whole time?) in his eyes, so raw and heart-breaking that Bruce quickly added, "Not here. Not in your room."

"I think this was the only floor the virus accessed," Tony mused, brain finally working. He nudged Bruce away from Steve and started leading him out the door. "Come on, my room's fine."

Steve hesitated. "You…You sure?"

Uh-oh. Crushing failure striking again.

He turned around and conveniently forgot the other three where in the room. "Yes, I'm sure." He clasped his hand carefully around one of Steve's. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely, "about what happened earlier."

Steve looked around nervously. "Is now really the time for this?"

Oh…oh crap. "No, you're right." Tony pulled him out the room. "Let's go get you comfortable."

As they left Clint called out, "Phil says not to pull out the documents again. He has a lead."

So _that's_ were Natasha was.

He waved a hand of acknowledgement and continued helping the shaky Steve down to Tony's room. There was nothing but silence between them, Tony gnawed on his bottom lip (a habit he had as a kid…he thought he had gotten rid of it).

"I stained your shirt."

Tony jumped a little. "It washes out," he replied. "You'd be surprised about what actually washes out of clothes when you try." He opened his door and helped sit Steve on the bed. "Steve…what did you mean I'm 'real'?" Tony sat next to him. "And why did you beg me not to leave like the others?"

Steve stared at his hands, curling his flingers slightly as they lay in his lap. "You were in my dreams," he mumbled. "With everyone else I knew…back then." He swallowed. "But every time, they would disappear in horrible, gruesome ways…" He looked Tony dead in the eye. "You were always the worse."

He put a hand on his arm, encouraging him to go on. Tony didn't want Steve to hold this in and completely snap. He had that happen to himself before and he ended up fighting his best friend, trashing his house, and having quite a few people temporarily turn their backs on him.

It wasn't fun.

"Everyone was gone and I was so alone." Steve hugged himself. "Alone, it the dark and cold. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move. And then…there were voices. Of everybody. They kept telling me all the terrible things that happened after I stopped Hydra, like if I had been there I could've stopped it."

"You couldn't have stopped _all _of that," Tony countered softly.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. "I could've _tried_," he replied earnestly.

Tony shifted to move closer, but Steve took it as the opposite and latched onto his arm.

"No," he said, borderline whimpered. "Every time I was in the dark you came and promised everything was going be okay and then you faded away like blue smoke...Don't leave. You said you wouldn't leave."

"I'm not leaving, Steve." Tony pressed his side against the other man's.

How could this be happening? The great Captain America reduced to begging for comfort because some bastard was getting the best of Tony Stark's mainframe? Was this an alternate universe or something?

Or was it just hell?

Tony tangled their fingers together, careful about the wound. "I said I wouldn't and I won't." He leaned in closer. "Steve…" He faltered. How was he supposed to do this? This wasn't exactly his forte. Give him an engine any day. "You…you mean much more…to me than you probably realize. And I'm sorry if I made you—."

He made an undignified noise when Steve tiled his head and met his lips in a searing, desperate kiss. Tony froze like an idiot, his mind going haywire until he told it shut up and finally started kissing back.

He groaned in the back of his throat when Steve boldly set his arms around his waist and lightly ran his fingers up and down the billionaire's back. He threaded his own fingers through the blonde's hair, enjoying the sensation.

Steve finally pulled back, grinning, when the need for sweet oxygen became a priority.

"I've been waiting for a long time to do that," Steve breathed, his grin growing bigger. "You talk too much."

"…Yeah…" Tony blinked, trying to clear his head. "I'm not going to work on that if that's the response I get."

He laughed, dropping his head on Tony's shoulder. "What are we going to do?" He asked despondently (Dictionary . com was amazing). "Why are they doing this to me?"

Tony kissed (he could do that!) the top of his head and wrapped an arm around him. "I don't know," he replied. "I'm working on it, though."

Damn straight he was working on it! Even though he was told not to open the documents anymore he was still running everything through his head.

He. Will. Figure. This. Out.

"_Tony, how's Steve?" _Natasha asked over the intercom.

"He doing fine," Tony said. He smiled as Steve kissed his cheek. What a weird yet slightly good (not great, ya know, considering) way to begin a relationship (at least, that's what he hoped this with the beginning of). "What do you want?"

"…_We've got him. We've got the guy who's doing this."_


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers.

* * *

I've been watching a little "Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes" (A:EMH) and thought I'd throw some of that in. It's still Marvel's Cinematic Universe, just some touches of other things. Also, Marvel and DC did a crossover a couple times, just thought I'd add a shout out to that.

This fic is almost over. Only a few chapters left and then I'm writing another Avengers fic that kind of takes place in this story's universe (as of now (June 7,2012 for you others who aren't reading this _now)_, the universe is going to be known as the BBUniverse until further notice. All changes will be listed on my profile for those interested), but will not be considered a sequel. It has a few comic and A:EMH aspects as well, which all of my Avenger fics should have.

Anyway, enjoy! Thank you for all the reviews, favorites and alerts! Official thanks at the end of the last chapter, promise!

* * *

Bitter Beginnings

Mikkal

Chapter Seven

* * *

Summary: When a recon mission goes horribly wrong there's a domino effect that leaves Steve cracked and almost broken. Luckily, there's a man made of iron who might just be the one to help. Pre-slash/Slash

* * *

"Who is he?"

"I don't know. Steve?"

"…I'm not sure. I've…I've never seen him before."

"Well then, this is annoyingly random."

They didn't want to compromise the helicarrier with a low-level, one-time villain…which made sense. But he would feel a whole lot better if they were in the fortified flying compound than in some run-down (okay, not really) standardized interrogation room…on the _ground_.

There was just something deeply unsettling and creepy about the casually dressed man who looked around like he had done nothing wrong.

"Don't lose your head," Bruce murmured in his ear, too close for comfort and too perceptive for Tony's tastes right now.

Tony growled under his breath, shifted, and backed up from the two-way mirror to stand next to Steve in the shadows. He put a calming hand on the small of the soldier's back, palm flat and fingers splayed out. He could feel the tension practically hazing around him like a heat wave.

"Calm down," he found himself whispering despite the fact he wanted to shoot the bastard down and let him bleed out…slowly. Forget his pulse bolts (kinetic energy! FTW!), he was willing to use to the more painful handgun.

Steve gritted his teeth and took a deep breath through his nose. He was angry. Very angry. Almost Hulk angry (but not quite). The fear and weakness that was so unlike Captain America had melted away as soon as they were informed they caught the villain.

"Who are you?" Clint's voice was muffled through the speaker. He leaned over the table menacingly, glaring at the man sitting calmly across from him.

Fury stood silently in the corner with his arms crossed and his classic "don't you even _think_ about thinking about giving me shit" face. A daunting presence only serving to intimidate the bastard (it was working…kind of). He wanted the Avengers to handle themselves in their own (almost) personal affairs.

Tony felt like it would be easier if he just interfered, but it wouldn't be nearly as satisfying.

The villain smirked. "Bryce Collins," he said, drumming his fingers cockily. "I'm surprised the Avengers don't already know that."

Tony's hand was grabbed in a vice grip of barely contained anger. He looked up to see Steve flaring through the mirror. Something told him the soldier was angrier about the slight against the team more than anything else. Tony glanced down to see pink slowly staining the white bandages.

Clint growled. "How did you get into Tony Stark's mainframe? Why are targeting Steve Rogers?"

"Steve," Tony sighed and pried his fingers off carefully one by one.

He gave him a questioning, hurt look, a flash of fear appearing as well.

"You're hurting yourself," the billionaire pointed out. He wrapped an arm around Steve's waist. "I'm not leaving," he assured, squeezing his hip. He was going to convince Steve of this sooner or later (preferably sooner).

His reply was a grateful smile and a shift closer.

"A better question," Collins was saying, "is how did you find me? I made my virus Stark proof."

Stark proof maybe but not SHIELD proof, (un)fortunately.

Natasha had taken time earlier to inform Fury of the situation and SHIELD immediately started monitoring all semi-external activity. They chose the right moment too. 3.2 seconds later the virus started attacking Steve's room again, for the last time.

If Tony wasn't so glad they caught him he would've been pissed that SHIELD figured it out before he did.

"That's none of your concern," Clint replied. "Answer me _now_. Why are you targeting Steve Rogers?"

Collins' eyes hardened. "Because Captain America deserves to suffer."

"What?"

Tony growled and started out the door to possibly punch the bastard in the face. If anyone deserved to suffer is definitely was not Steve Rogers. The door just slid open when Steve actually _stopped _him.

"Wait," he said softly. "I wanna know." There was a little bit of leader Steve bleeding through his tone, but a little of something else too.

He backed off accordingly, but wasn't very happy about it.

"He ruined my life," Collins continued. "He took all the glory, all the honor, away from the real heroes of WWII, making my father into a bitter, angry, _abusive _old man. I'd just thought I'd pay him back for that. Make his life hell like he made mine."

Everyone was dead silent. Tony's eyes widened. Was this guy…for real?

Clint stiffened, coiled and ready to attack. "You mean to tell me," he said slowly, carefully…dangerously. "That you are attacking one of my best friends, physically _and_ psychologically, because you have a heaping pile of _daddy issues_?"

That was when Collins' calm façade broke and a manic grin appeared. "Yep!" He said brightly.

Bruce grimaced. "That's just creepy."

"Got that right."

Steve made a noise beside him. Tony glanced at him and paled. Oh _great_.

"Oh no," he said, turning to face him. "You are not going down that road." Again, because Steve's been down that road a lot since he was woken and Tony didn't like that road. He didn't like it when Steve began his self-deprecation.

That was something only meant for Tony and Bruce. Sometimes Clint and Natasha, but not always.

Much to his relief Steve was making a visible effort to control that feeling. The man was smart, he knew when to blame himself (okay, not really 'cause he should never blame himself) and when he shouldn't. He couldn't help himself sometimes, but that was understandable.

"Well," Clint said bitterly, shoulders sagging a little. "I, unfortunately, know exactly where you're going." He sounded very…unhappy about that. "I'm sure Pym will be able to help you up in the Big House."

…What?

"_What?"_ Natasha shouted into the mic. "Clint, you can't be serious!"

Tony absolutely agreed with her. What the hell was he thinking? The Big House was a luxury for villains, the place where Hank thought they could get rehabilitated. No one in SHIELD or the Avengers liked it, but in order to have Pym's tech they had to accommodate him (pushovers). "I agree with Natasha," he said.

"There's nowhere else to put him," Steve said, fully aware of the cause of the argument, unhappy with the decision, but resigned to it. "The Vault's for the tech, Cube it for the radioactives." Bruce shuddered, he never liked that place. "And then the Barge is for the worst.  
Those three are, admittedly, a little excessive."

"Nothing's too excessive," Tony growled. This was the point where Captain America's do-gooder, see-the-light-in-everyone side got annoying. Always willing to give a second chance. "That bastard deserves it."

"But he's human," Steve argued. "Not a super villain. Just send him to a regular jail."

"Steve!" Tony whirled around to face him completely. "You've gotta be kidding me!" He huffed. "At least send him to Arkham then! He's crazy enough."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Different dimension, Tony. And they wouldn't be happy about another psycho draining their tax money, there were complaints already."

"I can hear you!" Collins sang, still grinning. "And you can't punish me for doing the right thing. I'm not the only one who believes the Cap deserves to suffer for taking the easy way out and taking the hero title from the real ones."

"I thought this was about daddy issues?" Clint asked.

"Oh, yeah." Collins seemed a bit more unhinged than five seconds ago. "That too. Hey, people are complex. I can be complex."

"…Have you met my good friend Freud?"

"Tony…" Steve said

"Steve." Tony took a deep breath and met his gaze squarely. He wasn't going to let this happen. "I know you have your ideals and all," he said calmly. "But even you have to feel that the Big House or even a normal prison is too lenient for someone like him…Steve. He _tortured_ you."

Steve faltered, panic showing in his eyes. Tony felt horrible for bringing that up. The last torture session was only four hours ago, anything like that would undoubtedly be fresh. Bringing it up just probably set back their relationship's little bitter beginning a few steps.

"I don't care where you put me," Collins said. "I know, one way or another, Mr. America's gotta go."

"That's where you're wrong," Clint said. "Steve Rogers is staying right here."

"With Tony Stark, right?" Collins smirked. "Besides messing with the audio and the A/C, I also had some mighty fine view through the camera. I know something you don't know!"

His shoulder was suddenly in pain when Steve grabbed it and yanked him back. Tony's eyes widened and he turned to the mirror.

"Fury!" The soldier shouted.

"I see it, Cap." Fury pulled out a gun and aimed it right at Collins' head. "You press that pen I _will_ shoot you dead."

Collins giggled. "Too late," he chirped. "I'm already dead."

There was a _click_.

Bruce yelled out.

A flash of green.

And then a deafening _BOOM! _

Tony's front was scorched as he was thrown back. He felt Steve grab his wrist, but the force pulled him away and brought down a rock wall. He slammed into a wall, back first, and blacked out.

A split second later (or how it felt) he woke up. His eyes stung and his back ached like you wouldn't believe. In fact, his whole body ached. His limbs going numb as each moment passed. Tony blinked and raised his head.

"…_pid okay?"_

"… _eah, bud... Cupi… okay… Fur…?"_

"_Ali…."_

He groaned and let his head fall back when it became too much, hitting a rock painfully. Hulk, Clint, and Fury were alive. That was good, being closest to the blast and all. Tony's eyes shot open, what about Steve? Natasha?...but mostly Steve.

He tried to get up and screamed. Pain spread like fire through his nerves, his insides were boiling. He grabbed at his thigh only to find a three inch wide, six foot metal pole sticking straight through it, in the ground, and out to the heavens.

Tony stared at it.

What the hell?

…

_What the HELL?_

How did he not notice that? How did he not feel it? Oh God, oh God. There was metal through his leg. Oh God. Metal in his leg. _Metal _in his _leg_.

That was when Tony realized he was hyperventilating enough for his whole body to be trembling with his shaky pants, which made the _metal_ shift and send a more fire up his leg. He took a deep breath and ordered himself to calm down.

"Relax, Stark," he said, conversationally (ignoring the fact that talking to yourself was a lead into insanity. Now, as long as he didn't _answer_). "It's just more metal in another body p-part. You can d-deal." Shit, now he was stuttering.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Couldn't they just get a break? I mean, is that so hard to ask? They save the day countless times, whether they were a team or not, yet fate liked to screw with them so much he was beginning to think they were cursed.

Tony took a breath and felt the area surrounding the pole, trying really hard not to scream again. It didn't go through bone. That was good. So maybe, if he was really lucky (which he wasn't often enough), he would be able to walk again (because, yeah, he wasn't walking for a long time with this type of injury) and with no permanent limp.

Hopefully.

_"…To… ny… Ca… ou… ear… me?"_

He perked up. _Steve?_

"Steve," he yelled. "Steve!" He could really do with some saving right now. Just this once (thrice?).

"…_Sta… whe… ou… are…"_

…Did he just tell him to stay where he was? (educated guess) Tony glared at the pole. Where the hell was he going to go?

A rock shifted at the side making the ceiling drop a few pebbles and dust clouds down on him. He coughed, groaned when his leg moved. Another rock shifted and he could hear someone on the other side. Larger pebbles fell; they were so large they could probably be considered rocks. Small rocks, but rocks none the less.

"Uh, Steve?" He croaked out fearfully. He was going to get crushed. What a way to go…okay, he really didn't want to go this way. He cleared his throat and tried again, louder. "Steve!"

There was a pause in the noise. "Tony?" Steve's voice was faint still, but a little clearer.

Could the damaged ceiling hold out long enough or should he go on with his plan and warn him—them? 'Cause he knew that Steve wouldn't be the only digging him out.

"You might want to stop," he said. "The ceiling isn't so steady."

He heard Steve curse and the digging noise stopped. Tony closed his eyes, exhausted. He was cold, and still very, very numb. What did shock feel like? He couldn't remember.

Rumbling made his eyes snap open…that wasn't the sound of digging. He stared at the ceiling as a rock shifted right above him, sending down bigger than ever rocks.

"That can't be good."

Then the ceiling crumbled down on top of him.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers.

Bad news, this is the last chapter. I mean, they've confessed their feelings. They've caught the bad guy. Anymore writing would just drag it on and on. Which what I try to avoid. So, this is the last chapter with a seriously long list of people who have reviewed at the end. Keep a look out for the next story (which might be a real sequel actually) that is titled _Problems on Top of Problems._

Another thing, before you start freaking out, remember whose POV this story is in? Tony's. Yeah, that's right. So who can't die? (that's for all of you freaking out about if he would be okay last chapter)

Update: June 26, 2012. I realized I put "Rodney" instead of "Rhodey." That was unacceptable.

* * *

Bitter Beginnings

Mikkal

Chapter Eight

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Summary: When a recon mission goes horribly wrong there's a domino effect that leaves Steve cracked and almost broken. Luckily, there's a man made of iron who might just be the one to help. Pre-slash/Slash

* * *

Dust. Pebbles. A curse. A rumble.

Darkness.

"_TONY!"_

…

His whole body hurt. He ached all over. Tony couldn't move, couldn't even twitch a finger. His eyes were glued shut.

"_Tony, please wake up."_

Someone grabbed his hand and squeezed tightly. It hurt…kind of. It was a dull sort of pain, it barely registered compared to the pain in his leg and on his chest—like an elephant was making him its new chair.

"_Please."_

He wanted to wake up. Steve was out there. Steve was awake. Steve had to be awake.

But why was he even asleep in the first place? Did he work late again? Ya know, Pepper always warned him that would bite him in the ass sooner or later.

…that didn't explain why he hurt so much, though.

"_You said you wouldn't leave. You promised."_

Tony thought long and hard. Really hard, it made his head hurt.

His leg hurt. Okay. His chest hurt. Okay. His head hurt (more than it did before). Okay. There were…rocks and dust and pebbles. And Steve. And a pen.

"_Well, this is you, leaving. Would it be odd if I called you an asshole?"_

Did Steve just call him an asshole? Really?

…Did he just register that Steve was there? Was Steve holding his hand?

Wait, he was leaving?...What?

And then it all came rushing back. The pain increased tenfold and he jerked back to the land of reality with a guttural scream, practically throwing himself off the bed in an attempt to get away from the pain.

Strong arms caught him and held him down; using such gentleness that Tony froze for a moment. His vision cleared and Steve stared at him, blue eyes filled with tears and worry.

Tears and worry for _him_.

"Tony," he rasped out, voice dripping with relief. He kissed Tony desperately, like it was the last kiss they were ever going to have.

Tony should really start initiating the kisses. He was losing his touch.

"What happened?" Tony croaked out when the soldier pulled away. His chest burned with every breath and he felt greasy all over. No showers? "No, wait. How long?"

"Two weeks."

His eyes widened. _Two weeks?_ "Two…weeks?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Your chest was practically crushed; you have more than a few broken ribs. You just started breathing on your own a day and a half ago."

Tony touched the arc reactor. "My—."

Steve frowned, eyes flashing angrily (?). "It wasn't damaged much, but it caused a huge uproar with the doctors when they learned they couldn't do a few vital tests because of it. You're lucky they could figure out a way around it before you died."

_Died?_

He took Tony's hand again, tangling their fingers together and brushing back a lock of too long brown hair. "You're gonna be on crutches for a while, but you shouldn't have a limp…granted, that's only if you take care of yourself."

That's when Tony glanced down to see that his thigh was a lot thicker than he remembered. Right, so that was where the pain was coming from. Metal pole. Leg. Yeah.

"Oh," he said, dazed. "That's…good to know." It was, really.

Steve smiled fondly. "You realize I won't let you slack off in that department, right? I'll _force _you take care of yourself." His smile grew incredibly sad. "Don't ever scare me like that again," he whispered.

"I won't," he said, but didn't promise. In their line of work they couldn't promise something like that. The look on Steve's face told him that the other man understood. "But I _do_ promise I won't leave you."

"I'll hold you to it."

Tony eyed him strictly, taking in the bags under his eyes and the messy, unkempt hair that was so unlike the soldier it was almost funny. (Did he mention Steve was wearing a 'Property of Stark Industries' shirt that looked incredibly hot on him?) "Have you been here the whole time?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, Natasha brought me clothes. Bruce, food. And Clint brought me books. You ever read _A Clockwork Orange_?"

"Can't say I have."

"Don't."

Tony ran his thumb across his knuckles, feeling little ridges from the vase that was broken _two weeks_ ago. "You didn't have to stay."

Steve snorted. "Do you really think I'd leave you here?" His eyes shone with so much worry Tony felt like he was drowning. "You almost _died_. Like _hell_ I was going to leave you."

He cleared his throat. He really needed to start working on situations like this, the ones where _feelings_ kicked in. "…did you call me an asshole earlier?"

Steve flushed a little. "Maybe," he said clearly, a little too proud that he did. "You deserved it. You were about to break a promise."

"About to," Tony reminded him. "About to is a lot different from actually breaking it." He yawned. Wow, he was really tired. Which made no since, he'd been sleeping for _two weeks _(Two fucking weeks) right?

Then again. Last time something this (What did Rhodey call it?) "traumatic" happened (i.e. when he first got the shrapnel in his chest) he slept for_ever_. And he wasn't even _that_ injured last time. So who knew now how long he would end up sleeping.

"Go to sleep," Steve urged just when Tony's eyes started fluttering as he struggled to stay away. "I promise I'll be here when you wake up."

"Again…" he mumbled, grinning.

Steve smiled. "Again."

He slipped off to lalaland with that smile in his mind's eye. But he dreamed of explosions and pain and metal poles that went up for miles and miles then dropped right down into the center of his chest. Right where the arc reactor was. Right where his heart was. Maybe he screamed, maybe he didn't.

Warmth spread on his forehead, and then again on his chest, and then everything changed to a warm bed with an equally warm body next to his. Coffee and working on the suit. JARVIS bickering with him. A refill of coffee appearing in the corner of his eye, his gaze leading up to a Steve who smiled at him, kissed him, and made the whole room just a little brighter.

So, yeah, good dreams.

It really, seriously helped that when he woke up the next time Steve was right there, waiting for him.

Okay…not really. Steve _was_ right there, but fast asleep in a very uncomfortable position. He was hunched over, too tall for the small visitor chair that the helicarrier had for the medical bay, and resting on Tony's arm (which explained why he just now realized he couldn't feel it and didn't even know he had an arm…man, he was tired), his hand still clamped around the billionaire's.

Tony grinned, relieved that Steve kept his promise. Not that for one second he entertained the thought that he wouldn't, it was just an ingrained feeling that never went away. Ever. It was really, really annoying.

Steve shifted, and for a moment he thought the other man was awake. But he was wrong…partially. His shoulders jerked and he let out a choked whimper, he squeezed Tony's hand harder (how was that even possible?).

"Steve, wake up." He reached over with his free hand (_ow_) and shook the soldier's shoulder.

He shot up, eyes wide.

"It was a nightmare," Tony assured. "Everything's good now."

His shoulders sagged but a smile flitted across his face. Steve leaned over, kneading his fingers up and down Tony's prickling arm. "How do you feel?"

Wow, that felt _really_ good.

Tony ran his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "Better," he said. Less sore. Less fire. "Water?"

Steve didn't even respond before a straw was placed in front of his mouth and cool, sweet water was traveling down his throat.

"When I get out of here," Tony said, slightly breathless (damn good water). "You're moving to my room."

He almost dropped the glass. "I am?" He questioned.

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Why is that so surprising?"

Steve dropped his gaze and shrugged. "I'm not sure," he answered honestly (at this point Tony's learned the difference). He picked at the sheets. "Are you sure you want me to...move in so soon?"

His heart sank. "You don't want to?"

"No, I do," Steve said quickly. "Trust me, I do. But…don't you want time to, ya know, to recover, recuperate?"

Tony smiled warmly up at him. "All I need is you."

Steve blinked. "Okay," he said slowly, the corners of his lips twitching. "I think you need to sleep now, you're getting mushy again."

"I don't wanna," he whined (déjà vu…again?). "I hate hospitals." Didn't they all?

"Medical bay," Steve corrected.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Same difference. I've been sleeping for too long…Wait, you're moving into my room, right?" 'Cause he didn't want to leave it up in the air if he did end up falling asleep…without an answer.

Steve chuckled. "_Yes_, Tony. I'll move in with you." He brushed a hand across Tony's forehead. "Now _sleep_."

"Oka—."

"No! Don't sleep yet."

"Bruce," Steve said, sighing. "You're the one who said—over and over if I might add—that he needed as much sleep as possible."

Something just occurred to him. "Well, oh shit." _Oops._ Tony swore had a good excuse. "I forgot to ask how you guys were doing…"

Natasha appeared with a laugh and a slightly creepy smile (if spiders could smile Tony had no doubt that was the type of smile they would wear). She leaned against the door frame. "Yeah, we figured," she said. "Too busy making kissy faces at your new boyfriend over there, huh?"

Steve turned pink and rolled his eyes. "Haha, you're so funny, Natasha," he said sarcastically.

Clint smirked (wait, when did he get here?). "I see Tony's rubbing off on ya, Cap."

"…There's nothing wrong with that."

Tony laughed (even though it hurt his chest). "No there's not."

Bruce clapped his hands. "So, I guess we're moving Steve's stuff to your room?"

"…we are?" Clint said incredulously. Natasha jabbed her elbow in his ribs. "_Ow!_ Okay, okay, we are. Shouldn't be too much trouble…._jerk_," he muttered, rubbing his side.

"You don't have to," Steve quickly said. "I can do it."

"Oh please." Natasha laughed again. "You're going to spend all your time in the hospital until Tony gets out and, by then, you still won't want to leave his side. You're going to be a very doting boyfriend, I can tell."

"…You're having way too much fun with this," Bruce helpfully pointed out.

"Shush, no I'm not."

"This is great and all," Steve interrupted. "But Tony really does need to get more sleep."

"No I don't." He yawned.

Steve grinned. "Yes you do." He shooed everyone else out of the room. Fairly quickly, surprisingly enough.

It was a really bad idea, but Tony shifted over to make a Steve Rogers sized spot (this was a medical bed? This thing was way to big…unless someone arranged it like that…hmm. Coulson? Maria?). He groaned softly before brushing past the pain and patting the bed. "Come join me."

"You shouldn't have done that," Steve scolded. "That really hurt, didn't it?"

"Yeah," he replied honestly, smiling "But you wanna know what will make it better?"

Steve rolled his eyes, but there was a grin on his face and he was already carefully moving onto the bed next to him. "Hm, I don't know. What?"

Tony snuggled against him; careful about his injuries and all the wires (was he a computer or something?). He felt Steve slowly relax and wrap a gentle arm around him.

Okay, maybe if this was what he could look forward to everyday he wouldn't mind staying in a hospit—sorry, _medical_ _bay._

Steve dropped a kiss on top of his head (even though it was in need of a serious wash).

Oh hell yeah, this was _perfect_.

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Thank you all for your reviews and kind words (except the reviews from Chapter Seven were rather…threatening, but that's understandable.)


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